


Little Fish

by missmungoe



Category: One Piece
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family, Parenthood, no one ever said fatherhood would be easy, poor Shanks, when your kid likes your best friend more than you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 04:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10429065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmungoe/pseuds/missmungoe
Summary: Small hearts have room for a lot of love, but ask anyone and they'll tell you the same —Ben is totally the favourite.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I love writing this ship. And kidfic.
> 
> And Ben.

“He’s going to do it.”

“Please don’t get your hopes up, dear.”

“He’s going to do it today, I can _feel_ it.”

The expression that greeted his unbridled certainty was one of patient fondness, and with a sigh Makino tucked her amusement under her tongue, along with her reservations.

Ben had no such reservations, and his amusement was a far drier thing, punctuated by a snort. “This from the guy who can’t even feel a storm coming before he’s standing in it.”

“This is different, Ben – this is fatherly _instinct_. You don’t have kids. You don’t _know_.”

“I’ve been practically raising _you_ for the past twenty years.”

“It must have been difficult,” Makino mused. “Being a single father.”

No cigarette in sight now with his godson in the room, but the wry smile that curved along his mouth was keenly familiar. “Somehow I’ve managed.”

Her own was carefully demure. “A bit of a handful, isn’t he?”

Shanks shot her a dry look for that, followed by a mutter about jokes that ought to be retired, but his grin was quick to follow, even as Ben said, “Biggest challenge has been keeping him away from sharp objects. You know he has to touch everything to learn not to. Knives, sea kings…”

“Mm. I can imagine.”

“Don’t listen to them,” Shanks told the baby, his mother’s hands tucked under his arms and his legs kicking at the air. A nearly toothless grin stretched across that little face, in uncanny imitation of his own. “They think they’re _so funny_. And I’m not getting my hopes up, because you’re going to walk today, aren’t you? Yes, you are.”

He had his hand extended, his whole countenance open with anticipation, and Ben’s brow quirked. “You’ll send him running in the opposite direction with that look on your face. But he’ll be walking, at least.”

“He’s not scared,” Shanks said, as the baby blew a slobbering raspberry, followed by a giggle. “See? He knows who his father is.”

“Okay, I’m going to let him go,” Makino said. “But if he falls, you’re catching him.” Easing the eagerly kicking feet onto the floor, the baby looked ready to lurch into action, but she kept her grip until he’d taken one uneven step, then another, at which point she dropped her hands, making him toddle forward, and Shanks let out a delighted laugh, lone hand reaching out–

But then the baby veered off to the right, grin bright and small arms raised, and his sights set on Ben, seated in the chair opposite.

Lifting him off the floor, Ben settled him on his knee. “You were saying?”

The stricken look on Shanks’ face made it difficult to stifle her laughter – doubly so when he told her, voice entirely level, “I’ve never been this hurt.”

Pushing to her feet, Makino dusted off her skirt, a smile hidden in the corner of her mouth as she made for Ben, and the baby reaching his arms towards her. “This is your father now,” she said, smoothing her thumb over a small cheek. “I hope you don’t mind, Ben.”

Ben gave the baby a bounce. “Can’t fault the kid for his choice.” Then, “Does this make me your husband?”

“ _Hey_.”

“You’re not going to yell ‘mutiny’ again, are you?” Ben asked, holding the baby out for Makino to take, a delighted _coo_ greeting her embrace, and legs that wouldn’t stop kicking. “Because I feel like you throw that word around a lot for someone who’s never actually been mutinied.”

Glare firmly in place, Shanks looked to Makino, holding their son now, small fingers shoved in his mouth, along with a good portion of her hair. Rising to his feet, he extracted it from the baby’s grabbing fingers to tuck it back into her kerchief, holding her gaze and ignoring her poorly contained smile, even as his own threatened to follow suit. “It’s not funny.”

She tucked her lip between her teeth. It didn’t help. “It’s a little funny.”

A tiny hand made a grab for his, and Shanks grinned, catching it and pressing a kiss to small, sticky fingers, eliciting another giggle. “Oh so you remember me now, hmm?”

“I doubt he’d ever forget,” Makino said.

“Yes,” Ben agreed, arms crossed over his chest now. “Some of us have been trying for years.”

Shanks stuck his tongue out. “And look who’s still here.”

“I said I’ve been _trying_. It’s an ongoing process.”

“See, you say that, but I don’t know if I believe you,” Shanks said. The baby was waving his arms at Ben now, the appeal clear, and Shanks pouted as Makino handed him back. “And I can’t believe you’re the favourite!”

“Maybe he knows I’ll be a better role model.”

“He’s ten months old. He can’t even poop without supervision but his decision-making skills are somehow top notch?”

Ben shrugged, and ignored the sticky fingers burying themselves in his hair, tugging. “Maybe he’s got good instincts.” A smirk then, and, “Unlike his father.”

“Insubordinate old grouch. I should demote you for that – from godfather to god…cousin twice removed.”

“Is this like when you threaten to demote me to deck-hand? Because I’m still waiting for that to happen.”

“It still could – I could do both in one fell swoop.”

“Well you do need all the hands you can get.”

“Oh,” Makino laughed, delighted. “That’s a new one.”

Shanks looked betrayed, but Ben only smiled. “I try.”

“You try a little too much if you ask me,” Shanks muttered, as the baby gave an elated _shriek_ , and Ben winced when he gave another tug at his hair, followed by a bubbling laugh, before bumping his head against Ben’s shoulder with a contented hum.

Observing the display, Shanks was grinning now. “If you wanted out,” he told him then, “you’re a little too late. You think I’m hard to get rid of? He’s twice as stubborn as I am – and he’s got _her_ eyes.”

A single brow arched, but then the baby made a gurgling sound, accompanied by a small hand patting his cheek, dark eyes bright and smiling, and Ben’s sigh held no regret – only the old, wry acceptance of a long-sealed fate.

 

—

 

“If his first word turns out to be ‘Ben’,” Shanks declared, some weeks later when their son’s endearingly incoherent babble had begun to shape into semi-articulate sounds, “I might cry.”

Makino’s sigh was a laughing thing. “What would I do without your dramatics?”

“Hmm, I don’t know – forget that I’m here and marry Ben, maybe?”

She pinched his side, dragging a startled shout into the quiet, and when he pouted Makino met it with a smile.

“Oh _you_ can smile,” Shanks told her, rubbing at the spot she’d pinched. “I doubt he’ll be mistaking anyone else for his mother.”

She smoothed her palm against his shirt, tugging at a loose button, and he half-expected her to make a comment about his blatant indecency, but the appreciative look that followed told a different story, even before she said, “Well I have no doubts of who his father is.” Then, “And I didn’t marry Ben,” Makino added, matter-of-fact. “I married _you_.”

His grin stretched, so easily prompted where she was concerned, but she was quick on the follow-up, her tone musing now, “Of course, if he’d asked me first…”

The smile dropped. And with her lips pressed together to stifle her own, the attempt entirely unsuccessful, “It’s a little funny?” Makino asked.

The look that kindled in his eyes at that held far too much mischief for a man on the cusp of forty, but she didn’t have time to tell him before he was reaching for her, the smile slipping back into place without thought–

“Oh I’ll show you a ‘little funny’–!”

Her shriek dissolved in an endearingly unflattering laugh, the sound of it drawing the attention of the baby sitting in Ben’s lap, observing his parents’ antics with curious eyes.

“A good thing you have me, kid,” Ben said, turning the page of the newspaper. There was no verbal response, but then it was perhaps a bit early for that.

Although – “Ben,” he told him, voice low, “is only one syllable. And you’re getting better with your plosives.”

His answer was a gurgling half-word that bore no resemblance to his name, followed by a devious giggle as little hands made a grab for the corner of the newspaper, chubby fingers stained with ink and saliva. Patting his head, Ben turned the crumbled page.

“We’ll work on it.”

 

—

 

Godfather or not, there were consequences to being the designated favourite, in a crew full of self-proclaimed uncles.

The galley door opened, the soft whine of the hinges slipping beneath the din of laughter and conversation, easing itself into the late-night revelry without intruding, and so Ben didn’t even look up from his drink at the sound.

Not until the presence asserted itself with a familiar, gentle insistence, and the sudden hush that followed suit washed across the room did he incline his head towards the doorway, only to find Makino, for all intents and purposes looking like she’d rolled straight out of bed.

Clad in one of their captain’s old shirts and a frilly dressing robe gathered loosely at the waist, her expression dared them to comment on either, although Ben suspected the sight of her had rendered the crew too speechless to even manage an attempt.

“He won’t go to sleep,” she announced. Then, dark gaze finding Ben, her amusement an acutely dry thing now but the irony ruined somewhat by the exhaustion drawn so tightly across her features, “He keeps asking for _you_.”

Ben tried not to smile. From the look on her face, he doubted it would be well-received.

Yasopp had no qualms about it. “I’m going to assume you’re talking about the littlun and not the captain?”

The look she shot him told him plainly how much she appreciated his cheek, although the smile that chased across her face seemed beyond her control. “I’d laugh, but I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in weeks,” Makino said. “And I don’t care what it takes, Ben Beckman, I will drag you if I have to.”

Rising from his chair, he put out his cigarette, smile still threatening, and from the dark brow that arched in response he suspected he wasn’t doing a good enough job stifling his amusement. “No need for that.”

She stepped out of the way to let him pass, and – “You’d make a scary captain, Makino!” someone called from across the galley, and the tremor of laughter that followed held more than one murmur of agreement. And the look she tossed them before she shut the door behind her attempted to be cutting, but the smile lifting the corner of her mouth didn’t quite convey the desired reproach.

“They’re not wrong,” Ben said, as they walked down the gangway.

“Oh no? Frilly dressing robe included?”

“It adds to the effect,” he deadpanned, and she laughed, the sound a desperately tired thing where it fell into the quiet. Despite the full galley at their backs, it was too late – or rather, too early – for the village to be up, and he spared a passing thought of sympathy when she rubbed at her eyes, knowing that she’d likely be up in a few hours to open the bar.

He heard the crying before they cleared the porch, and there were a hundred different jokes begging to be spoken, finding his captain pacing the upstairs hallway, one very disagreeable toddler on his arm, but the honest exhaustion on his face made him think the better of it.

But the boy reached out his arms at the sight of him, hiccuping wails yielding to a noise of surprise – then to a seamless stream of now-familiar syllables, accompanied by the eager kicking of small feet, “Benbenbenbenbenbenbenben–!”

“I’m surprised you’re not more upset about this,” Ben said as he changed hands, and that little weight settled on his arm without fuss, small head tucked against his shoulder and grievances quite forgotten.

“I’m too tired,” Shanks sighed. “Maybe in the morning. Wait – it’s already morning, isn’t it?” He looked at Makino. “What does sleep feel like again? I can’t remember.”

“Go,” she said, giving him a push. “You’ve been up the longest. I’m surprised you’re still standing.”

“You’re getting far too comfortable throwing orders around, my girl,” he pointed out, and Ben’s smile offered his silent agreement. “Should I start calling you ‘Captain’?” Despite the exhaustion, his grin was one of familiar mischief. “In public, I mean.”

Her mouth pursed with a smile, but the blush erupting across her cheeks was visible even in the dim light of the hallway, and, “ _Go_ ,” she warned, giving him another push. “Don’t make me put you to bed myself.”

“Is that a promise?”

“ _Shanks_.”

Her laughter followed him through the door, and, “I’m sorry about this,” Makino said, although Ben was tempted to point out that she didn’t look very apologetic, wearing her fondness so openly. And she didn’t specify what she was apologising for, but the relief that skittered across her face when she looked her son, sitting calmly on his arm, said enough.

And from their bedroom – “He brought this on himself!” Shanks called. “You get no sympathy from me, Ben. This is what happens to usurpers.”

“What he’s trying to say,” Makino sighed around a tired laugh, “is _thank you_.” Her look softened, and her gratitude was as genuine as her exhaustion when she added, “We really appreciate this, Ben.”

He didn’t say that he didn’t mind – didn’t have to, where either of them were concerned; they both knew him well enough to know without being told. And she didn’t have to say that they were grateful, but she was the type to do so anyway, Ben knew.

“Don’t let him get away with too much,” she said then, reaching out to push an unruly lock of hair out of her son’s face, smoothing her palm over the downy strands. “We wouldn’t normally indulge him like this, but I’m too tired to think straight.”

“Get some sleep,” he told her. “I’ll handle things from here.”

“If you need help at all,” she said.

“I’ll wake your husband and let you sleep.”

Her laugh fell, too bright to be tired, and she squeezed his arm. “Good man.”

“What was that?” Shanks’ voice drifted out through the half-open door.

“Nothing,” they said in unison.

“…you know what, I don’t want to know,” came the sigh. “Have your schemes – I’m going to sleep.”

The smile she offered him carried the shared amusement of an old alliance, and when she made her retreat to the bedroom Ben made for the nursery, keenly aware that the little shape on his arm looked far too awake for it to be four in the morning.

“One story,” he told the boy. “And then you’ll go to sleep, won’t you?”

His mother’s eyes were far too compelling, and his father’s grin promised nothing but trouble, and, “Yeah,” Ben sighed, as though in agreement, but the snort that followed was too soft for genuine derision.

“I don’t even know why I asked.”

 

—

 

The following morning greeted them with surprising gentleness.

“Do you hear that?”

He felt Makino stir, rolling towards him, a yawn sighing against his skin, and her murmur, “Hear what?”

“Exactly. It’s _quiet_.”

Her sudden alertness made him realise the words had sparked worry rather than the wonderment that had been his intention, and so, “Ben’s downstairs with him,” Shanks explained, picking out the two presences with ease, and he felt her sink against him in response, her breath a soft gust of relief. “Do you think he’s been here all night?”

Makino hummed, the sound holding a note of exhaustion still. “We owe him.”

“He has the obvious favour and unconditional affection of my only son,” Shanks said, threading his fingers through her hair, to curl them against her jaw. “What more does he need?”

Her answer was wordless, a tender half-sigh tinged with a laugh, but she was awake now, Shanks felt, and there was intent in the small hands searching out his skin, and the kisses against his jaw, seeking his.

“Speaking of needs.” His laugh rumbled out, roughened by something more intimate than his usual mirth. “What are you thinking, my girl?”

He felt her smile. “I’m thinking that this is the first morning in weeks that we’ve had to ourselves,” she murmured the words against his mouth. “And I’d like to try for another one while I still have you here.”

Shanks grinned. “My ever-practical wife.”

“You know,” she said between kisses. “We could name the next one Ben.”

He snorted, and felt how her laugh fell, soft and pleased against his mouth. “I hope you realise that he’ll never let me live it down. _Ever_.”

“You’ll survive.”

“You don’t know that. This might be what finally kills me.”

He felt her response in the grin pressed against his, and before she could say something about his love of dramatics – “We’re having girls from now on,” Shanks declared, rolling her over, and startling a yelp from her. “ _Only_ girls.”

“What– _plural_?” she laughed, but her eyes gleamed, dark-bright and awake now despite the shadows cast against her cheeks, and Shanks thought she sounded distinctly pleased at the prospect.

She combed her fingers through his hair, and he took a moment to consider her own, fanned out over the pillow, and imagined it framing another face – smaller, but the shape of it just as lovely.

“Why not?” he asked. “Ben can babysit, since he’s so popular.” He kissed his smile against her neck. “It’ll keep his hands busy when he retires.”

“Hmm. Well, he does have two.”

He pulled back at that, looking down at her. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

Makino grinned, and tilted her head to catch his mouth in another kiss, and it was an effort to keep his glare from slipping. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, and Shanks was sorely tempted to point out that she didn’t sound it – although when she looked at him like that it was difficult remembering that he was trying to feign annoyance. “Anything I can do to earn your forgiveness?”

“I can think of a thing or two. _Maybe_.”

“Well you better tell me quickly, because if I know your son we won’t have long, even with Ben holding up the fort.”

“So _bossy_ ,” Shanks laughed against her throat. “But if that’s the mood you’re in–”

“Shanks, if the next two words out of your mouth are ‘Aye, Captain’ I will push you off the bed.”

His laughter chased away the quiet, barely leaving room for her own, a far gentler thing but no less earnest, and the sound of it pooling with warmth deep in his gut.

And if they’d harboured any hopes that their son wouldn’t realise they were awake, Shanks had a feeling he’d thoroughly ruined them; although it was difficult finding a mind to care, even after weeks without a proper night’s sleep, when the source of his troubles was also, undeniably, the source of the joy that sat, so close to the surface it was hard to feel anything else these days.

 

—

 

“Ben could work for a girl, if you don’t mind being unconventional.”

Shanks looked up from his breakfast to find Ben reading his newspaper, expression carefully blank and yielding none of his thoughts, least of all the ones that had sparked the far-too-casual remark, the culprit behind which was so obvious he didn’t even bother looking for his surprise.

“She tells you way too much,” Shanks said.

“You both tell me way too much,” Ben countered. “I’ve learned to live with it.”

“Yeah, your life is a real struggle, endlessly adored as you are. You know, I’m beginning to wonder if I’m anyone’s favourite around here.”

Ben shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a likeable guy.”

“I’m still not naming my next kid after you.”

“Did you clear that with the captain?”

“ _I’m_ the captain.”

“If you say so.”

Shanks grinned. “You’re getting way too old for that kind of cheek. Has anyone told you?”

“Has anyone told you how old you’re getting?” Ben asked. “Even if you have your next one within a few years, you’ll be in your sixties when your kids are grown.” His tone was musing when he added, “Gives a new meaning to the phrase ‘old man’.”

“Why are you like this?”

“You’ll live.”

“Everyone keeps saying that. I’m not so sure anymore.”

“You still have a few good years left,” Ben said. “And a younger wife – I hear that helps.”

“With the amount of scheming you two do, I don’t know if I agree.”

Ben smirked, turning the page of the newspaper, and Shanks went back to eating his breakfast, no ill feelings following the exchange, old as it was. And the lull that descended held a lifelong friendship’s worth of implicit support, settling without being asked in the small grooves and crevices of uncertainty that life tended to leave, even in the sturdiest of souls.

Then, the thoughtful remark accompanied by the calm flip of a page, “Benny has a nice ring to it,” Ben said. “Makino agreed.”

“Yeah, it’s so not happening.”

 

—

 

In a crew with their history and experience there were copious jokes about age, and about getting old – fond-but-weary quips that the sea was made for younger hearts, and less brittle bones. And their mortality had always been an awareness they carried with them, etched into the planks of their ship, and the scars on their skin; the keen knowledge that every day could be your last. A pirate couldn’t sail the New World without it, but there had always been an air of ease about theirs, especially their captain’s particular brand – the sense that life was as long as you lived it, and if anything happened, it was the sea’s will.

Of course, one’s mortality is a simpler matter when there’s no one else to account for upon your death.

“I can hear you thinking.”

Looking over at his captain, it was to find a pensive expression on his face – enough so that Ben was tempted to remark on it, but the underlying severity didn’t seem to invite humour, however sardonic. Whatever was on his mind, it wasn’t his usual, exaggerated woes. ****

He was proven right a moment later, when Shanks said, “If anything ever happens to me, I need to know that they’re taken care of.” ****

Ben frowned, wondering what could have prompted that thought, and now of all times – the midsummer sun sitting at its noontime perch, and the seemingly endless sky touched white from the heat. The shade beneath the awning where they were seated offered respite, and inside the tavern at their backs the rest of the crew were gathered, the familiar cacophony of merriment softened by the unforgiving temperature, seeming to cling to the air, ripe with saltwater from the sea.

It was _peace_ , and in abundance – a cup fairly spilling over with it, but then maybe that was the crux of the problem.

The boy asleep in the crook of Ben’s arm shared none of his father’s worries, exhausted from the heat and heart too young to know there was more in the world to contend with, the pale bridge of his nose touched with freckles despite their many precautions. He hadn’t budged in over an hour, and Ben’s arm had long since fallen asleep, but he ignored the small discomfort, and didn’t so much as shift in his seat.

“I know you’re close to tipping forty,” Ben said then, a curious sort of defiance rising in place of his former amusement, and there was little to be found of teasing when he added, “You haven’t exactly let us forget. But this is a new level of melodrama, even for you.”

Shanks laughed, but it held none of the humour it sought to imitate. “I think you know this isn’t me being melodramatic.”

Ben said nothing to that, but was acutely aware of the small weight in his arms, and those quiet breaths.

“You’d take care of them for me?” Shanks asked then. “If anything happens–”

“I’m a little insulted that you’re asking,” Ben said, cutting him off. “It goes without saying.”

Shanks didn’t respond, and Ben’s frown deepened. “What’s brought this on?” he asked, observing him where he sat, gaze fixed on his son, sleeping soundly. Inside the bar behind them he could hear Makino laughing, the sound of it slipping between the bat-wing doors. Two things that usually kept his captain’s heart light, but that seemed to be weighing on it now. “Teach?”

Shanks’ features darkened at the mention, the gesture pulling at the scars. “Yeah.”

“You’re an idiot if you think I won’t drag your ass away from that battle alive.”

The assurance didn’t have its desired effect. “I need to know that she’s safe,” Shanks said. “That they’re both–”

“I’ll take care of it,” Ben said. “And if I can’t, you have a whole crew who will.”

Shanks nodded, but said nothing, and he hadn’t taken his eyes away from his son. Ben followed his gaze – there was a spot of drool on his shirt growing steadily bigger, and the boy had a good portion of it gripped in one hand, the other shoved in his mouth; small hints that suggested resistance, if someone were to move him.

Shanks’ smile quirked then, allowing his frown to lift, although not completely. “Isn’t this where you’re supposed to say something like ‘good riddance, idiot, I’ve given you enough years of my life’?”

Ben snorted. “I have. My best years – and my hair.”

“I still maintain that has nothing to do with _me_.”

“And yet I’m the one with a full head of grey hair, not you.”

That brought on a genuine smile, and the shadows yielded their grip. “You’ll have your fun at my expense soon enough, I wager – I hear if anything in life is sure to give you grey hair it’s your kids.”

Ben looked down at his godson. “Something tells me this one’s worth it.”

“Yeah,” Shanks laughed, without hesitation, and the sound curiously gentle where it came to settle, between the quiet and the peace.

“More than I can put into words.”

 

—

 

Their departure for the Grand Line was met by a cloudless horizon, blue skies bright and unblemished and the wind little more than a sigh against the sails; the East Blue’s gentle temperament unchanged, and the quiet waters set to see them off without reproach.

But there was something else – a small heart’s permission that wasn’t so easily granted, and that made her own sit a little too close to hear throat, when she was already fighting to hold back her tears.

“ _No_.”

The word was muffled, spoken into the folds of his father’s cloak, but it fell with surprising conviction, for all that it was a terribly small thing.

“Well,” Makino said, laughter thick and falling awkwardly under the din of the busy wharf. The pocket of privacy they’d claimed for their goodbyes remained undisturbed, but there was no ignoring the preparations taking place, familiar to her after so many years, and so many goodbyes, but this one felt new, and she at a loss. “I don’t think you need to worry about who his favourite is.”

The look he gave her from over the top of their son’s head broke her heart. “I know I’ve joked about it,” Shanks said, with a laugh that was anything but convincing. “Joke’s on me now, I guess.”

His look turned pleading then, and she was prepared for resistance when she reached out to extract their son, her mother’s touch gently beseeching. But she wasn’t prepared for that little voice to break, and her hands hesitated, suddenly uncertain where she wasn’t used to faltering.

Shanks’ expression softened, and, “Hey, little fish,” he said, ducking his head to catch that dark gaze, stubbornly averted. “You be nice to your mom, yeah?” Then, smile lifting, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

That little head gave an exaggerated shake, his refusal silent now but no less affecting, although when Makino pulled gently on his arms he allowed himself be lifted out of his father’s grip, and the wet sob that fell into the space between them wedged itself between her ribs.

“Okay, this just isn’t fair,” Shanks laughed, expression echoing her own now. “ _You_ never gave me this much grief for leaving,” he told her, and his voice sounded too rough for the levity he was attempting.

“I don’t think I’m the one he takes after,” Makino said, as a small brow pressed against the hollow of her throat. “If there was ever any doubt of his parentage.”

Shanks’ smile was wry, but the affection alighting behind his eyes softened the edges of his derision into fondness. “The hair tipped me off a while ago, love, but thank you for that.”

Makino laughed, the sound a little broken, but her smile wouldn’t be stifled, and when he tugged her close it was a grinning kiss he stole, along with a moment – just for the two of them, and the little life held between them. And another one, newer still–

She felt the touch of his fingers against her stomach, and the warmth of his palm where he pressed it just beneath her ribcage. Too early to share their news yet, but the secret tucked away beneath her heart sat with a new and bright sort of giddiness, despite the knowledge that she would be going through most of it alone this time.

Sketching a kiss to her brow, “You’ll call,” Shanks said, dropping his eyes back to hers, expression bleeding serious for a single, hard second. “If you need me to come back.”

Cheek pressed to the top of the little head resting against her shoulder, she nodded. “I will.”

“And if I don’t make it back in time for the birth, please don’t name my daughter Ben.”

“I’ll make no such promise.”

The look he gave her was a thing of long-suffering and desperate fondness, and her smile came without effort, along with her laughter, and she marvelled silently that he always managed to lure them out, no matter the circumstances.

“I guess that gives you incentive to come back sooner rather than later,” Makino said, but felt her attempted cleverness was ruined somewhat by the quaver in her voice.

Raising his hand, Shanks touched his fingers to her cheek. “I’ve never needed any other incentive than you.” Then to the toddler in her arms, who made a grab for his hand when he reached for him. “And _you_ , for all that your loyalties are entirely questionable.”

Makino thought there wasn’t anything questionable about the way that little hand refused to let go, but refrained from pointing it out, realising his teasing was a necessity, and not born from any genuine uncertainty on his part.

“You know,” Shanks said then, tucking his fingers around those small, chubby ones, squeezing, “I think there’s someone else who wants to say goodbye.”

The look he gave Ben filled the gap with the things he didn’t say, and the exchange was an effortless thing, Ben stepping into sight just as a noise of complaint fell, and claiming his godson’s attention before he’d fully had the chance to notice his father stepping back.

The small distraction was enough – and it was necessary, Makino thought, watching Shanks turn away to walk down the docks towards the ship, the rigid line of his shoulders cut sharp underneath the cloak. He didn’t look back, and she wondered how much strength it took.

“Makino,” Ben said then, dragging her eyes back, only to be met with a keenly knowing look. “Be careful.”

Her mouth pursed with a smile. She hadn’t told him the news yet, but she wasn’t surprised that Shanks had. “I still think Benny has a nice ring to it,” she said.

He snorted. “I think he might actually demote me for that.”

She laughed. “I’ve been told I have sway with the captain – I’ll put in a good word for you.”

The look he shot her was far too amused, but the easy repartee helped lift her heart from where it had sunk over the course of the morning.

On his godfather’s arm now, her son was quiet, although there were still tears clinging to his eyelashes. And it would be months this time, she knew. Nothing new where her heart was concerned, accustomed to waiting and fonder for it, but for that little heart, so quick to attach itself and not used to letting go, even for just a moment…

She didn’t think about the mornings that would follow – the questions she knew would come, still half-articulate strings of almost-words, but the intent behind them clear. She could only hope her answers would be enough, and that the months would go by too quickly for him to notice.

She didn’t want to think about what she’d do if she ever had to explain that his father wasn’t coming back, but the thought was relentless now, watching the crew preparing the ship, and the pale line of the horizon in the distance.

“It’s not looking good, is it?” she asked, as Ben handed her son back, making sure to keep her voice level, even as she heard how it wavered. She thought of the headlines in the newspaper, and Luffy’s ever-rising bounty.

Ben shrugged. “The sea is the sea.”

“And the people on it?”

His smile pressed to a tight line, and he threw a look towards the ship. “We’re not strangers to changing currents. We’ll do what needs to be done.”

It wasn’t who she’d been referring to, and he knew that, but she still appreciated it – the assurance, even if the offering wasn’t as explicit as she’d hoped. But she knew, and better than most, the promises that they couldn’t make, no matter how much they might want to.

But there was another kind of promise, and one Makino was certain she could ask for, even before she spoke.

“Ben,” she said then, before he could make for the gangway. She hated the finality of these moments, threatening at the back of her mind – the uncertainty that always followed their departures, that it might not be the same crew returning. She watched Shanks’ shape further down the docks – caught the edge of his smile, harder than it should be, and the red of his hair, bleeding copper-and-gold under the afternoon sun.

Her heart felt heavy in her chest as she turned her eyes back to Ben. “Take care of him for me?”

That hard expression softened a fraction, and held something wry that she thought hinted at a private joke, and for a moment she wondered if he’d tell her.

But instead he only reached out to ruffle her son’s hair, gaze fixed on that little face, and his smile was an old thing – as old as their friendship and promising that it would be older still, before he said, not a hint of wry humour in sight now, although his words hinted at an ambiguity she didn’t quite understand–

“Until my dying day.”


End file.
